


Giggle again, if you dare

by Lentomurri



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Later it will become smuttier, Long-Term Relationship(s), Long-term kicking each other's ass, M/M, The smut comes later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lentomurri/pseuds/Lentomurri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As my other fanfic, I take things slowly. But I can play dirty very much , if you will be patient and give me the chance. </p><p>Deadpool and Spiderman share a tiny funny moment which can change everything. But how deep this is going to be, they can't fathom. (No, not even Deadpool although he can break the 4th wall. I'm hiding behind the 5th.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That tiny thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters or I'd be keeping them in a secret basement for voyeurism. They belong to Marvel, damn.
> 
> PLEASE, LEAVE COMMENTS! They are highly appreciated!! I'm new to this fandom, but I imagine the Andrew Garfield's Spiderman and OF COURSE the only, only, only mr. Ryan Reynolds as Deadpool.

                                                                                                                        

The sun was rising above New York, shining on piles of debris, buildings smashed to the ground and tons of robot-like aliens kicking their engineered bucket among the chaos. From the horizon, the remaining of the invaders' army rode for the last, desperate attack.  
The Avengers were standing, gazes focused on the face of the new danger, their uniforms covered in scratches and the oil-version of blood of the enemies. Their chest were heavily rising and descending, in sync, as they scanned the sky to prepare for the last wave. The awareness of being the last border between salvation and decay filled the heavy silence. A single thought hung over them as a last-wish cloud: win or die trying.

Behind them, sitting on a destroyed, red Lamborghini, Deadpool was happily whistling the cartoon theme from the X-Men and, colours in hands, was drawing on a piece of paper a close-up of the asses of the Avengers. As one of his boxes got his attention, **[ So what's your opinion about the landscape]** , he started to comment loudly.

“Thor is a God, his asshole must be made of thunders. Ouch, Nope. Wanna stay away from that hammer, too. Not the flesh one, the other one. Might try to steal it. Can't lift it. Damn.  
Iron Man'a ass is not even visible and the metal armor is a trick. Probably he has a sloppy ass. And he'old. And moustaches are a big nope.  
Black Widow is good back and front but she's creepy. I don't wanna be her widow. No, the other way around, anyway. Look at that butt, though.  
Spidey is just a peach. Look at that. So round and still. He's cute like a sunshine in a jar. I might bite it until he squirms. Spiders have so many legs, wonder if he has lots of legs in the front. Ah! Eight penises.”

The Avengers, eyebrows frowned, turned slowly to look at Deadpool as the merc was swinging his legs back and forth and started whistling again. The stress and the fury steered dangerously towards the cynic super-no-hero. Iron Man loaded his energy blow and Thor swirled his hammer. Deadpool looked up, not a care in the world, and turned his drawing towards them, making a victory sign.  
“Art for art's sake!”

The giggle from the right surprised him as much as it surprised the rest of the group. He turned his head and saw Spiderman covering his mouth as he giggled again, stressed by the battle and tense for the frantic fights, apologising under the strict gaze of Thor but unable to keep it in. Wade seemed unable to keep it in too as well, but even though that was quite an unspoken rule with him, being light-headed and schizophrenic, this time his good humour came from a more genuine place. Spiderman's voice sounded so young and so seriously relieved that he laughed less maniacally than usual, joining the shared funny moment. The rest of the heroes growled and turned again, facing the aliens. Thor tapped Spiderman's shoulder, his gaze serious but somehow understanding. Peter Parker was just a boy and they were already demanding too much from him.  
Deadpool kept on looking at Spiderman, which raised his mask enough to wipe one eye from some laughter's tear. He saw the smooth chin, the chuckling mouth and heard that innocent giggle again. He felt captivated as if in a memory. Spiderman was his favourite superhero, but this tasted more like a human connection, something Wade Wilson hadn't felt in a while, although he never seemed to miss it much. It felt nice nevertheless.  
_{We made him laugh. Aw. Isn't that cute?}_  
**[And that butt too. Isn't that cute? I'd make *that* giggle.]**  
“Stop it. He's a nice boy. We won't sex him up.” Wade replied to himself. It had felt good to feel closer to someone. Someone which wasn't a complete nuts had found him funny. Satisfactory.  
**[But what's wrong with** **looking at his trunk while we appreciate the personality?]**  
Nothing wrong, actually. Deadpool admired the short, lean body under the spandex. His attempts to flirt with Spiderman had strangely been less than the average the merc would usually exercise, mostly due to the young age or some sort of uncomfortable reply that the baby hero had stuttered while victim of Deadpool's snarky remarks. Consent was the sexiest of foreplay and Wade had kept his long-staring admiration at bay.  
But now, it felt as if Spiderman had connected with him. Which put a great, white, imaginary flag on his head and flashed a blinking “Go,go,go” sign for Deadpool.  
Spiderman giggled, shook his head and looked up in Deadpool's mask white eyes. As he spoke Wade smelled naivety and kindness where he usually smelled disrespect and aversion. And again, it felt good.  
_{Stop being poetic and listen to what he's saying, genius. He's looking at you.}_  
“I'm sorry, mind repeating? You know, we are the old ones, deafness and incontinence and all.”  
Spiderman winced at the mention of bladder weakness and Deadpool found him adorable. And so innocent that he wanted to dirt him like a crystal in a sewer.  
“I know the others want you out of this battle, but I don't agree. Keep the base, Deadpool. Cover us. Don't move from this spot, be our last stand and keep the shelter safe for the wounded. You are so strong and so brave. I trust you.” Before Deadpool could cut the crap with some horrible reply _{But, strangely enough, we don't seem to have one available on the short term_ }, Spiderman shot his web and swung away.

Deadpool dropped the colours back in his pockets, sticked the drawing in the face of a dead robot and drew his katanas. And yes, strangely enough, he did exactly what Spiderman asked for and with no distractions. He slayed the enemies, blew some asshole which had come too close and held on to the base, although his previous plans had been to steal whatever technology he could in order to sell it on the black market, while the Avengers were so busy with the hero thing. But now he looked up at the distant red and blue figure which was giving all he got to save the world, as if this bunch of crap humans deserved it. But even if, he didn't move, the wold _trust_ swaying his ass in front of him.  
He had given up his thousands of tacos for a giggle.  
**[Tomorrow what, asshole, are we going to save unfuckable nuns?]**  
“Tomorrow I'll stuff my mouth in chimichangas and jerk off over this fucked up day.”

 

As Thor smashed the last of the aliens with a mighty blow, Iron Man collected datas from the others. Hawkeye and Black Widow reported what sounded like a joke: Deadpool had kept the basement of the Avengers Tower safe for all the citizens which had been caught in the battle and he had actually defended the entrance. Tony could hear him in the background getting bashed by Natasha after what sounded like an attempt to stick his nose between her boobs.  
“Wade Wilson helping us. That sounds like a badly written play.” Tony muttered, helping Thor to stand up. Captain America landed beside them, his shield on the back. Spiderman was sitting down, fixing one web-shooter as he smiled lightly under his mask.  
“That weirdo must have some b-side plan,” Steve replied. “Don't let your guard down.”  
“No, he doesn't.”  
The three men looked down to the young spider, which was checking his arm for a blueing bruise.  
“What do you mean *he doesn't?*” Thor asked, bending to check the wound.  
“I mean what I said. He doesn't have a plan b. I asked him to do that and he did. He's a good man.”  
Steve rolled his eyes while Tony burst in a frank laugh. Spiderman glared at him and he zipped his mouth.  
“I'm sure he is, Spiderman, but he's also mentally sick. That's what we don't trust.”  
“He was a merc even before the mutation. And not one of the good ones, Peter.” Steve explained in a neutral tone. “Don't be naïve.”  
“And you don't be judgmental.” Peter replied, covering his mouth immediately. He never, ever answered badly to the cap, he was an institution. Thor seemed amused.  
“...my bad.” Steve replied, looking away. “We are done here.” and with that, he moved on.  
Thor helped the boy up and they took a silent walk home. As they reached the Tower, Steve stopped, waited for them, walked up to Peter and patted his shoulder.  
“You did a great job, today.”  
Peter smiled, although Steve couldn't see it. Then he saw Deadpool, sitting again on the car, evidently beaten up by Black Window, muttering by himself about revenge and Mexican food as he played with the corpse of a robot with his katana.  
And he smiled wider.


	2. Cross with the green light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is ended but Deadpool is still an idiot. How much of Peter's attention is actually only kindness? 
> 
> A bit of tension in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone commenting, leaving kudos or simply reading. I like this couple a lot and I hope they don't sound too cheeky (blah). I'm trying to make them deep enough so we can all have a party and drown in the (spidey)pool together.

 

_{He's staring at us. He's staring at us. Say something smart.}_  
**[KISS HIM!]**  
_{No, don't kiss him! We'll blow our chances!}_  
**[BLOW HIM!]**

“Shut up, you two.” Deadpool whispered as the baby hero approached him, but his dirty box kept on yelling a list of possibly perverted actions easily manageable in the space of ten seconds, the time he would need to grope, squeeze and run as fast as he could.  
“Shit, would you just shut the fuck up?!”  
He cut the crap of his excited box by punching himself loudly on the temple with the barrel of his gun. Spiderman froze on the spot and Wade looked up, blurred, as he realised that what the boy just saw was a front-row ticket in the freakshow.

  
_{You scared him. You shouldn't be the freak you are, when he's around.}  
_ **[Screw that. We are what we are. If he has a problem with it, he can join the queue of people who despise us.]**

**  
** “A long, long, queue with jerks.” Wade sentenced, glancing at the boy. “Yes, baby hero? Don't mind my beating myself. Deadpool has been a bad, bad, bad doggie.”

Peter didn't seem to be coming closer, somehow uncertain. He was scratching his arm in what Wade had classified as the “I want to be anywhere but with this weirdo” tick. Oh, well, crap, it had sounded too nice to be true anyway, Spiderman having fun with him. Wade sighed, took his colours out and sat on the robot he had been gutting, writing “Tony is a fag” all over the wreck.

“Go home, Spidey, I'm busy. Ah, these markers are great. Wonder if I can write on top of the Empire State. Wham! Right at the top in big capital letters. A big FAG TONY all over us. Mh, if it wasn't for the moustache that would be sexy.”

Spiderman kept looking at the muttering man which was now chuckling insanely. Was Steve right? Of course he was, Deadpool was unstable, lawless, dirty in kinds of ways that Peter wasn't even able to quantify, being his sexual experience composed of a total of two college girls which weren't exactly much imaginative in bed (as he wasn't as well, geek and all). But Steve had been wrong about Deadpool having second motivations and he had been wrong about this man being a wrong company for a young boy like him. Here he was, near the strange merc, and he trusted him for no particular reason. Everyone deserved a chance and Deadpool hadn't wasted the one Peter had given him. So, he wouldn't be the prejudiced prick all the Avengers seemed to be when it came to Wade Wilson.

Wade saw the slim foot of Spiderman come in his line of sight as the boy walked to him, little, steady steps on the shattered pavement. He didn't risk to look up from his ankle. And he felt slightly turned on.

**[Apparently, we just discovered that we have a foot fetish. Strange, we never noticed, this is quite the basic one. I'm gonna add that up to the list.]  
** _{We got no space left on the list. And besides, it happened only with this particular foot, so it would be quite incorrect to put it in the general bucket.}_

“Start a new kinky list and name it Spidey.” Wade exclaimed, before covering his mouth. His favourite hero was so close! He shouldn't fuck that up revealing his shiny dotted notes about the brand-new jerking off material he had decided Spiderman would be.

“I'm not going to ask anything about kinky lists.” the boy said, sounding still a bit amused. “I am here to thank you for what you did. For saving all these people and helping us. I appreciate it very, very much, Deadpool.

Wade looked up, riding the robot, slightly surprised. Now, that had been unexpected. He hadn't even remotely considered the option of gratitude.  
“Not a big deal, kiddo. Got nothing better to do. Besides, I got my reward.” he rustled in his pocket under Peter's curious gaze. He showed him a black bra. “I snatched this right under Natasha's nipples.”

Spiderman looked behind Deadpool towards the entrance of the building, where Natasha was covering her chest with crossed arms, slightly blushed, while Bruce, which was chatting with her about the battle, seemed to cross every existing shade of red while desperately avoiding to stare at her big breast now perfectly lined under the light shirt.

And Peter burst in laughs again, squatting behind the car with Deadpool, hiding his face on the merc's shoulder as he choked on the laughs, trying to avoid being heard.

 

_{He's leaning on you.}  
_ **[BL...]**

“If you finish that sentence you'll be the one I blow,” he whispered, shutting the perv box.

_{He's still leaning on us. Don't screw this.}_

“Bruce can't even look at her. Oh, she is so mad, but she's trying to be so serious.” Peter whispered spying the couple, his neck stretched behind the bonnet. His hand was squeezing the merc's shoulder.

“Do you think they like each other? I think so," he continued as if chatting with some pal in high school.

Obviously, Deadpool jumped in the role straight away. Oh, he did love role play. He put on a “Lions” rugby team hat and a pinkish skirt which he always kept in a secret pocket. Not _that_ pocket. He kept the prom dress there.  
He kneeled beside the young boy, vaguely smelling his juvenile after shave and his sweat. He wondered how his skin would taste after an entire day of battles sealed inside the spandex.

**[Aaaaaaand here we add some dirty scent kink to the list.]**

He brushed his best “Cute but not popular enough” girl voice and entwined his fingers under his chin, dreamily.

“Oh, yes, I'm sure they are lovey-dovey sweethearts. They are just too shy to admit it, you see? Oh, I'd love for Bruce to take _me_ to the ball, he's so man!” Deadpool squeaked, jumping up and down on his toes.

Spiderman blinked as he turned and looked at the man, suddenly aware of his new outfit of female clothes, too surprised to comment anything.

“I would ride his big, green car and then I would ride his big, chiselled, green coc...” Wade made a ridiculous girlish giggle taken straight from some cheap TV show. “...no, no, I can't say it, I'm still a virgin! Oh, no, don't look!” he covered his crotch with both hands and Peter could do nothing but look down following the hands' trail, confused.

Then he realised he was staring at an engraved-in-iron pack of abs and a hard-on that not even both Deadpool's hands seemed to be able to cover in his entirety, and he blushed violently. He sat on the floor, startled, as Deadpool (deep engulfed in his teenage girl role) ignored him, still looking at Bruce and Natasha.

Peter recalled some strange nights while surfing on the web, where he had naturally landed on some porn website as 99% of the web population did (that wasn't the strange part). What had made those nights strange was the fact that after a bit of wondering he had finally browsed the gay section (to be precise, the #stud #daddy #muscles category) and that he had actually jerked off with a deeply guilty feeling on the clip of a well-built man and a young university boy ( _That #twink didn't look like me, no, he didn't look like me_ he had kept repeating himself as he came in the tissue.) Now, looking at Deadpool all tensed and defined even though he was wearing a horrible pink shirt, he felt the same heat and the same confusion and shame.  
  What had Natasha said, once? _It's not easy to be straight for young boys among all these muscles._ Sure, she was speaking about the news which involved Tony and that young Russian Avenger, that Peter Maximoff, but he had felt quite caught in the picture none the less.

_But I was with Mary-Jane,_ he answered mentally to his own enquiry. _She wasn't speaking about me. I have been with girls. Always._

He blinked and gained the control back. This was just the adrenaline fading out, demanding the last of his attentions. He wouldn't allow it. He bit his lip hard and used the stinging pain to get out of his trance state. He noticed how Deadpool had relapsed in talking to himself. Before he could say a word he saw Deadpool huffing and his spider sense tingled.  
  Something really stupid and potentially disastrous was about to happen.

“They are not doing anything! Why don't they just kiss and shag already? Maybe I should put some romantic music? Crap, my phone is down. Uff, it's so frustrating when love is not blooming...But I have just the solution.” Wade giggled again and stood up. Peter covered his mouth and tried to drag him back down, but it was too late. _It's always too late when it comes to him._

“Hey, you, sweet pigeons! Here, let's see if you get horny with this!” he swirled the bra up his head and threw it at the speed of light in Bruce's face.

Spiderman crept out and looked at the man changing from red to green while Natasha tried to get her bra back and calm the man down, a task which made her forget her naked boobs as she pushed them against Bruce's arm in an attempt to stop him. The man turned fiery red again and then, with a final roar, he transformed. Spiderman saw the Avengers assemble, but they wouldn't have enough time to stop the green beast.

“Uh-oh... I need a ride, Spidey.” Deadpool whispered, as Hulk, still roaring, seemed to prepare the charge. Spiderman was frozen on the floor.

“Spidey. Dear. Honey. Little one. Friendly neighbourhood.” Deadpool pulled his spandex sleeve. “...I do need a ride, like, now.”

The ground shook as Hulk started to run.

“BABY BOY, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, YOU DON'T EVEN REGENERATE!”

Peter woke up from his astonishment and realise what was happening. They couldn't run away, they wouldn't be fast enough. And maybe Deadpool would survive the impact after a few agonising hours, but him? Nope. He would become scattered dust.

Hulk was few metres from them when Spiderman grabbed Deadpool by the hips, shot his web and swung away as the red car which had screened them became a flat memory under Hulk's charge. As they fled through the remaining buildings near the Statue, quickly rising and falling as Spiderman shot expertly his webs again and again, he heard Deadpool shouting “Spidey caaaaaaaab!” loud, as if they hadn't just risked becoming pancakes.

And Peter laughed, a liberatory laugh which filled him with happiness and freedom, something he hadn't felt anymore after Gwen's death and after Mary-Jane splitting with him. He laughed as Deadpool squeezed him after a particularly nasty detour which had almost ended on a building's facade, he laughed because Deadpool was aroused and was wearing a skirt and that sounded so ridiculous even only thinking about it, but Peter had _seen_ it, so he just couldn't stop chuckling as the picture came again and again in his mind. He laughed as he pictured again Natasha's bra stuck on Hulk's head as he charged towards them.

But he didn't laugh when Deadpool whispered in his ear “You are so sexy I might jizz on the head of the people down there”, because yes, it was funny, but all it did was made him burn. He felt Deadpool slap his own head and blame those invisible voices, but Peter had heard it, and now he was picturing it, and yes, it was ridiculous, but then he thought that if that happened the funny part would be just the cum dripping from under a cheerleader skirt on the head of some commuter. There would be nothing funny about Deadpool squeezing him, touching him and getting all tense on him while he came.

That crap wasn't funny, it was something else, but not funny.

They landed in an alley two blocks behind Deadpool's flat. Peter went a bit mute before snapping out of his apathy and go back to his usual, kind self, repeating himself that Deadpool naturally flirted with everything that moved: it was nothing special. _And even if it is, I'm straight as a pole._

_“_ Spidey Cab.” Deadpool sentenced as if putting the dot on the Wikipedia definition of the experience. “Yup. Added on the list. Now what, should I invite him to dinner? In my flat?” he laughed darkly before clearing his throat. He was seriously about to ask, but Peter smiled lightly before shaking his head.

“If the invitation was for me, I'm sorry, I must decline. I have an early wake tomorrow.”

Deadpool looked at him silently and Peter wondered what his gaze looked like. Was he sad? Indifferent? Or did he have those empty eyes so often associated with mental illnesses? Damn those masks, they made everything so impersonal.

“I know, you have the prom and you invited Shirley, the curly starlet from the fifth class.” Wade sighed as he looked down on the floor, digging in the ground with his toe.

_Crap, he's still in that roleplay thing._

“Wade, I got no prom. I mean it. I have an early wake. Otherwise...”

“Otherwise, you would have eaten half of my tacos. I don't know if the idea upsets me or make me horny like a pedo in a park. Ooops, no, wrong example, you got all moody.”

“How do you know that? You can't see my face.”

“I don't need to. My common sense is tingling.” Wade replied, and Peter could sense him smirking. Crap, he could feel himself smirking as well.

“Your common sense is also telling you that you shouldn't show your face in the Tower so soon, I hope. Bruce is not one that forgets easily.”

Deadpool huffed and scratched his ass.

“Whatever, it's not like I'm a fan of the place anyway. It smells like old ladies' wet pants.”

Peter chuckled lightly.

“I like it  when you do that. Can I record it? For my phone? It would be my ringtone.” he paused. “No, wait, then I would never ever answer and I would forever and ever wank. Nope. Bad idea. Got jobs to take, people to kill.”

Peter focused on a garbage bin to avoid focusing on Wade's suggestive idea of masturbation. What the hell was wrong with him.

“Well, I seriously got to go. Thanks for helping today.”

“And thanks for making me spend my Friday night with all my limbs. I like these ones. The ones before were moody and I didn't really get along with them. My left arm was a wanker.” he sighed. “Ok, that was me. But it was religious.”

“...your left arm was religious?”

“Yes, whenever I was wanking it tried to blind me.”

Peter laughed heartily at the idea of a self-punishing arm and Wade put a hand on his mouth.

“Seriously, stop doing that or I'll be a naughty dog.”

Peter swallowed the lump and the temptation of laughing again just to see what would happen.

“Ok.” he replied, whispering in between Deadpool's fingers.

“Good. Good, good Deadpool, who's a good boy. We are.” he muttered, this time scratching his nuts with the free hand. Peter waited but Deadpool didn't seem to have any intention of removing his hand. He cleared his throat, waited again. Nope.

He moved his hands up and gently removed Wade's one from his lips.

“I'll be going. Thanks for your help, Wade. And I mean it, if I didn't have an early wake, I'd be having dinner with you. We are pals. Have a good night.” he turned not waiting for a reply, aimed at the closest building, shot the web and then climbed, disappearing from Wade's view.

 

Wade looked up and sighed, passing the hand that had touched Peter's lips under his nose and smelling the scent in.

“I will kill Shirley. That blonde bitch.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Shots.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday Nights' routine patrolling. Peter gets caught in a robbery.  
> But what is the real danger?
> 
> Time for some psychological digging and some dubious-taste shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to get this out! I admit that I got stuck with another chapter, then I just erased it and started new! Hope you like it! As usual, comment!!  
> I was even busy starting my other fanfic, "Blind Road", featuring Matt Murdock and Frank Castle. So, I wasn't totally useless O_O

Saturday nights had a precise scheme.

All the stress and the nerves of the week condensed into both sides of NY, the lawful surface and the criminal underground. Peter could be a newly made hero but he had learnt trough mistakes what patrolling on Saturday meant.  
  It meant to learn to distinguish between petty drunk fights and true crimes while all the city screamed, was it for joy, for rage, for fun, for violence. He had learnt to sit on roofs and watch carefully before intervening. How many times had he previously busted in stupid quarrels between lovers or saved a screaming girl from what seemed like a thug attacking her, who revealed himself to be just a concerned dad with an inebriated teen?  
  Learn through mistakes. Something he wasn't so keen to do. He was a first-time-perfect kind of guy. He didn't like getting scolded or laughed at, as much as he didn't like to admit when he wasn't the best in what he did. Genius syndrome.  
  Yet he had so many things to learn and he knew it.

  But that was why he was sure, now, that the sounds he had heard weren't firecrackers but gunshots. Refined senses. Peter was upgrading his instincts without even noticing.  
  The shot attracted his attention as he swung in the alley dodging the umpteenth _looks like a crime but it's just idiocy_ event _._ When he reached the source, a 24h store in the Chinese district, he saw three men, masked and armed, and a security guard with a bullet in a leg. They had turned the guns on a tiny old woman, who was shivering like leaves in the wind behind the till.

He found a narrow air-vent and slid inside it. The men didn't hear him as he crawled out of it and climbed on the ceiling above them, concealed among the dirty pipes and the irregular tiles motifs. He scanned the situation.  
  The guard had fainted, but his injury didn't look in need of urgent medical attention. The men were professional, judging by the way their hands didn't shake. They had shot the guard in the leg in purpose: none wanted a charge for homicide.  
  Peter was relieved when he dealt with pros. They had a plan, a target, and some dubious morals which applied as far as their eventual capture wouldn't lead to years in jail. Armed robbery without corpses made policemen close one eye in an eventual chase. Better safe than sorry was pros' dogma.

Of course, they would happily make a colander out of him if he was to be spotted. A Superhero's death would make them national heroes. None stops in front of glory.

Peter calculated his options, but with two of them staring at the woman and the other checking their back there were no bugs to take advantage of. If the group stayed so close, Peter would have to wait for the robbery to end and just make sure that the woman wouldn't be hurt. Hard choice, but the safest one.  
But that wasn't to happen. One of the men (apparently the leader) turned towards the man on the back.

“Bill, check the entrance and make sure none wants to buy a beer in this particular shithole, alright? Don't want yellow faces joining the party.”

 _So charming and so not-at-all-heard-before-racial joke, my friend._ Peter thought, trying to stay cold even though his hands were itching to plant themselves in that dickhead's face. _Wonder what you think about red-spandex faces._

“Although, cancel that. They don't drink beer. They must drink their own urine to have that skin.”

Dumb laugh from the other guy.

 _That's not funny, geez... And I don't mean it in a political correct kind of way. I mean, really, it lacks every basis of funny. Oh, I so have to punch you. In the name of comedy,_ Peter cringed.

He could stand a gun but he couldn't take lame humour.   
Meanwhile, Bill had grunted a reply and had moved to the door.  
Peter took his chance.  
  
  Grumpy Bill reached the entrance door, turning the “open” to “closed” and glancing outside, while keeping his gun out of sight from the pedestrians. Turning his back to the main action, Peter followed him.  
  While the man's attention was absorbed from the people's movements on the concrete, Peter landed behind him lighter than a feather. Calculated the distance. Prepared his wrists.  
  Even if a couple of boys outside had actually stopped to take a look in the shop, when they saw the not-so-friendly man staring at them they had turned on their heels. Newyorkers sadly knew when to mind their business.

 _No surprise if none of them is even going to call the police,_ Peter acknowledged to himself _._ _It's just a Chinese convenience store anyway, right?_

His guarding job done, the robber turned back to be welcomed by a white-eyed red mask. His mouth opened into a “oh” of surprise which gave way to an attempted scream for help. Peter felt his own grin under the mask - _am I getting addicted to fights? -_ and spit enough web to fill the man's mouth, cutting his shouts on the start. The man's eyes bulged in surprise, making him look like a frog. He scrambled back: before he could hit a shelf and make noises that would attract attention, Peter caught him mid-fall and tied his legs and arms, leaving him on the floor in the replica of a cocoon.

_Softer than a Lake Swan performance._

Out of sight, covered by the shelving units, Peter admired his work. He shook his head, getting back to the matter at hand. The man's partners would start to wonder about him in a minute.

_Well, it's not like we are in a mall and he could have gone for a Starbucks._

He had to act quickly.

_One piggy has left the house, let's make sure the others will follow._

Time to move back on the ceiling.

  He crawled back to his previous point of observation. The woman, a crying mess of broken Mandarin, was filling the bag while the boss had pointed the gun on her temple.  
  _Playing big with everybody's average grandma,_ Peter's blood rushed to his fists once more, _now that's a crime I can't forgive._  
  Apparently the contents of the till weren't what the men had gone there for, because the boss had smashed the glass behind the counter and a pile of cigarettes was now on the floor.

“Don't play smart with me, Jackie Chan, you think I'm some shit China rat? I know that you keep the monthly cash here somewhere!”

_He mentioned Jackie Chan. Seriously, he just did._

The woman, maybe for the shock, maybe because she didn't really speak that much of American, shook her head and made signs to explain she didn't get him. She pointed at the till again.  
  The second man approached the woman, talking in Chinese with a mellow voice so out of place that Peter shivered. It was worse than the boss' menace, given the context.

It seemed to work.

_Damn Stockholm Syndrome, making our enemies the people we want to please._

She nodded, almost happy that she could be of help, pointing to a narrow shelf behind herself.  
  The boss turned towards the entrance.

“Bill! We got the safe! Bring the tools!”

_And here is where my planning time goes to hell._

There was, of course, no answer. Peter saw the men looking at each other.  
Then, in a mixture of gurgling and choking, Bill the Silkworm's muffled screams shattered the shop's unnatural silence.

“...he got caught, there is someone. Maybe another guard,” the Chinese-speaker murmured.

 _Duh,_ Peter thought.  
  
The men loaded their guns.

 _How much of my web have you swallowed, Bill?_ Peter tensed his muscles. _I hope you will shit it out in the stickiest pain of your life._

His eyes darkened, his mouth was a thin line. The woman was still under threat.  
Instants would decide the outcome.

He still had the upper-hand, though: they didn't know where he was. And wasn't that all a spider needed, to trap his flies? They were, anyway, right at the centre of his web, they just didn't know yet.

They didn't know where he was.  
Or who he was.  
He felt the grin appear again. His graceful hips loaded for an acrobatic landing. He licked his lips, concentrated, while his fingertips detached partly from the surface. He needed the best push he could get.

But how to start a fight keeping the advantage?

_Whenever one's voice is pleasant, there is a tiny break of two seconds during which any human lacks reactivity. It's a basic rule of empathy. You want to attack a crazy murderer? Walk towards him calling him by the name with your biggest *hey bro* smile. It takes at least four seconds for someone to realise that he doesn't know you. If you are fast enough, you have sent him one-way to the hospital before he can even think /not fair, dude/._

Peter smiled a bit at the memory, which had come back at the best of times.

 _Wade taught me that,_ he thought. One of the few times where Deadpool had spoken to him without any hint of flirting. It had been more than two years before; probably he had escaped the flirting because he wasn't even in legal age.

 _4 seconds,_ Wade had said, mimicking a gun and pointing it on Peter's forehead, _it's a shitload of time to decide who's gonna live._

Peter assessed his next move.

_Time for my biggest hey bro smile._

  “Bill told me I'd find you here, guys! Jeez, let's go for a beer!” he called from the ceiling, happily, as if seeing two of his best friends ever. He didn't know the guys' names, but saw how the mentioning of Bill the Cocoon had produced the right effect.  
  And it was crazy, because the voice had come from _above_ them, enough to understand that something was wrong, but there they were, a hint of a smile on their lips when they looked up, when their gazes met not a mysteriously hanging-from-ceiling old school buddy but Spiderman, the evening nightmare of the criminal neighbourhood.

_Are humans really this easy? Did they really lower their defence that fast?_

As they saw him, the 4 seconds started to run down.  
Their eyes focused, their lips dropped the smile. There were two guns too many in play and they were both raising their arm to aim them at him.  
Peter saw the woman take her chance and run in the cubicle behind the counter.

_Wise granny._

He hadn't dropped his grin when he shot his web and pinched the weapons out of the men's hands, in 2.75 seconds.  
  
_I'm getting faster._

From there, it was textbook.

He landed on the floor and said,

“Hope they’ll put you in the jail for shit comedians.”

 

  _Punch, kick, punch, punch, kick._

Peter read the sequence of hits as he switched in fighting mode. All his senses were sharp mirrors who slowed time and made it so easy for him to dodge, bend, turn and counter-attack. The fight was going to end in less than three minutes but Peter felt every second deep down his spine.

_I'm addicted to this._

One of them punched him in the rib, a bruise that would hurt later the same day under the shower, but the robbers were hardly material for Boxing Championships. _Look-at-me-I-speak-Chinese_ tried to reach the gun on the floor and received an elbow in the neck, which sent him straight to dreamland.  
The boss stood, breathless but firm.

“Come on, Spiderman! Or should I call you Shitman?”

Peter froze.

No, seriously.

“...listen, buddy, really, don't do that.” he muttered, scratching his head. “I understand that maybe you were mommy's boy and she always called you my little funny baby love, but no, no, you are not. Not little, not baby, not a love, but sure as hell Not Funny. Shitman. Come on,” Peter made an exasperated sound.

The man, eyebrows furrowed and fists raised in front of his face, seemed perplexed.

“...Shitman,” he repeated, as if in making a point.

“Alright, I'll spell it out for you,” Peter replied, back-flipping to start his attack. In the waterfall of punches that the man received, Peter repeated

“Don't make jokes! Say it, I won't make jokes! Say it or I won't stop!”

“... I won't make jokes,” the man stuttered, confused, before fainting.

Peter panted. “...thanks,” he replied, while shooting his web and turning the gang into the Silkworm Boyband in few instants.  
The Chinese woman appeared from the door, lips pale but face recovering colours.  
  
   “They gone?”  
   “Gone right on the floor, madam.” Peter replied, kicking one of them to obtain a muffled protest.  
   “And packed for the police.”

She looked at him, suspicious, then she gave him a warm smile.  
_She has the same smile as Aunt May._  
She wasn't crying anymore. She walked out of the counter, reached the boss, looked at him, and kicked  him in the butt.  
  
“You sucker! My kids will make you get some when they come back from work, you piece of shit!”

Peter looked at her bewildered.

 _She did speak American,_ he smirked. _She is totally Aunt May, after all._

“Can I pay you? I will pay you whatever you want. You saved me, you saved the shop. I pay my granddaughter's college with this place, you saved us,” she admitted, and now Peter saw again the hint of a tear. That's why she had pretended she didn't understand their requests, at first. The money wasn't for her.

He had a painful memory of his uncle, the day when Peter, still a kid, had seen for the first time a chemistry book and had looked so ecstatic that his uncle had promised him the best university. Breaking his back to allow Peter to be whatever he wanted to be. Worked till his very last day, just for him.  
   The memory blurred his senses, opening doors never really closed. He was so focused on the grateful woman that his attention disappeared, his instincts relaxed.

He recognised his own mistake in the eyes of the woman, wider and terrified as she looked behind him. He read his mistake in her mouth, opening to scream an advice that Peter wouldn't have time to hear. He saw his own demise in the way his skin turned cold, his spine a stick of ice.

He turned.

There was another man.

 _The driver. Of course, they had a car waiting._ _Oh stupid, stupid me._  
  _I didn't think it through. Like when I didn't think it through with Octopus. Like when I didn't think it through with Gwen._

The fourth accomplice had come through the emergency exit on the side, probably previously opened by the men when they organised their escape.

   _But I didn't see that,_ he thought, as if justifying himself in front of an invisible exam committee. _I arrived too late, I didn't see that, how could I know that?_

His gun was pointed dead blank to Peter's chest. The man was few meters from him, but too many to be attacked, not even with a quick flinch of his wrist. No seconds to move without exposing the woman behind him. He could see all, all of it, it was like time had stopped again, but this time he was frozen inside it.

 _I'm really a noob,_ he thought calmly, as the man cocked his gun.

_Is this dying? This is so weird. I see everything and I can't do anything. Is this what you felt, Gwen?_

He closed his eyes and he saw her, he saw her as beautiful as the first time she had seen her in college.

He smiled under the mask.  
  
   The gun shot.  
   ...and a doorbell played a Chinese tune.  
  
  ... _actually, the other way around. The doorbell first, the gunshot next._

Peter realised he could rationally process the order of the events because the shot hadn't hit him. What hit him had been a loud, excited scream, a mix between a cheerleader and a muscled Olympics weightlifter, something he didn't really expect to hear when dying.

   “Is that my Spidey??”

   _Is that Deadpool?_  
  
   Peter opened his eyes and looked in front of himself, dismayed, waiting to see the gun's barrel, as if a time-loop had reset the events.  
   Instead, there was Deadpool. Deadpool, with a stupid Wolverine t-shirt ( _Hear me roar,_ it said) and a bag from Taco Bells hanging from the right hand.  
   In the left, he had his katana.  
   With the katana, he had cut the man's fingers and the gun had shot towards the floor, bullets planted in the wood planks.

Deadpool came rushing, ignoring the mutilated man's screams, wetting himself in the gushing fountain of blood spraying from the man's hand, kicking the man's jaw when he had knelt down in pain. And he kept a merry girl-from-the-fifties walking through all the motion.  
   He hugged Peter cheerfully, patting his back.

_He saved my life._

   “Isn't life great, Spidey?! I went to get my takeaway, and I always come for my beers here to lovely Lady Zhan,” Deadpool said, still squeezing a paralysed Peter “and when I saw the door closed I thought, /My, My, has this little pervy milady found another lover tonight?/”

Lady Zhan, as in a dream, chuckled at that.

“And what did I see when I kicked the door down? Yeah, I did kick it down, sorry about that, Madame, the bell is safe, though” he moved back and grabbed Peter's shoulders in his hands, one of them holding the bag, the other the unsheathed katana _“_ I see my sexy sexy spider and a man pointing a gun and these other three on the floor and I think, _This is the best party of all time and this fucker is ruining it!”_

He turned and for good measure kicked the bleeding man in the face with his heel.

“What about we buy drinks and go to a rooftop and eat the shit out of these tacos?”  
Peter, now shaking in Wade's hands, nodded weakly.  
    
   _He saved my life._  
  
   Deadpool squirmed a happy _Yay, best night ever_ and dropped five dollars in changes on the woman's counter, grabbing four bottles of beer. He looked back at Spiderman, his grin perceivable even under the mask.  
  
   “Let Lady Zahn call the police, sugarbabe, I call it a day for you. Wade will take care of that sexy ass-cancel that, I meant lovely ass- cancel that, I meant sweet bum. OK, crap.” he muttered against himself, speaking to God knew whose voices.

Peter nodded once more, the coldness licking his skin as if he really died and that was just an other world's illusions.  
  He had felt so peaceful. That was what scared him, now. He hadn't been scared of dying, like any other young boy would. He had felt controlled, ready to go.

Was he really that broken? Was he really that empty, after Gwen?

He felt Wade's hand wrap his wrist, felt the man's closeness. The woman had disappeared in the cubicle, calling the emergency service. Peter looked around, on the floor. The wrapped men. The fainted guard. The wounded driver.

The blood.

The gun.

There came the shock.

His lips became white and cold as pottery. His nerves released the tension, his muscles jolted under the wave. His shivers became tiny, fast, and uncontrollable.  
Wade stashed his katana, and Peter felt a gentle caress on his head. The hand was warm. He closed his eyes as the hand caressed his cheek.  
He heard Wade whisper.

“I got you, baby boy.”

   / _It's a shitload of time to decide who's gonna live./  
I don't know if I want to, Wade._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
